


Share My Love

by Inell



Series: Teeny Fic Challenge [41]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Banter, Domestic Fluff, Domesticity, Established Relationship, Flirting, Future Fic, Innuendo, M/M, Married Couple, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-16
Updated: 2018-06-16
Packaged: 2019-05-24 04:03:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14947218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inell/pseuds/Inell
Summary: Jackson and Stiles spend some time together waiting for their food to arrive





	Share My Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rieraclaelin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rieraclaelin/gifts).



> rieraclaelin said: Hi! If it's okay, I'd like to ask for a Stackson tiny fic with your lyric prompt? Please and thank you! (And I hope this helps you get back into writing! )

_I want to share_   
_All my love with you_   
_No one else will do_   
_And your eyes (your eyes, your eyes)_   
_They tell me how much you care_   
_Oh, yes_   
_You'll always be_   
_My endless love_

Endless Love ~ Lionel Ritchie/Diana Ross

  

“Sorry I’m late. There was a three car pile-up out on Riverside, and we were the closest patrol when it was called in.” Stiles stops his rambling excuse when he catches sight of Jackson leaning against the table. He’s still wearing his scrubs and lab coat, which means he was probably late, too. “Were you out before the casualties hit?”

“I got the mother with the head wound when they arrived. She’s fine, just a cut and stitches, but her kid broke his arm.” Jackson shrugs. “I wasn’t too late, but I figured you would be since Isaac said you and Allison caught the call. I ordered Thai. It’ll be here in an hour.”

“Food.” Stiles groans as he walks towards Jackson. “You’re the best.”

“I know.” Despite the cocky words, Stiles can see Jackson preening at the praise. He looks at Stiles steadily, lips twisting into a slight smirk. “So, how tired are you?”

“Uh.” Stiles arches a brow and slowly smiles. “Waking up more and more with every passing second.”

“We have an hour.” He shrugs and gives Stiles his best Bedroom Eyes™, which means there’s no way Stiles is going to say no even if he’s worked a double and has been thinking about nothing but curling up with his husband and food for the last six hours.

“We can do a lot in an hour. Maybe even twice.”

“Not since you were twenty-two, babe.” Jackson rolls his eyes, but his smile is affectionate as he looks at Stiles. “Did I tell you my package finally came in?”

“No, you didn’t.” Stiles waits a minute to see if Jackson continues before finally asking, “Um, what package?” He really hopes there isn’t something he’s forgotten because he’ll never hear the end of it. They’ve been dating since they were eighteen, married since they were twenty-three, and he’s always the one who remembers every anniversary and special occasion. Jackson does, too, but Stiles is the one who brags about it.

“Seriously?” Jackson scoffs. “I told you about it last week, and you were so excited that you came before I could even finish blowing you.”

“We agreed not to mention that incident again, remember?” Stiles shakes a finger at him, feeling warmth on his cheeks as he remembers shooting off like a horny thirteen year old. He’s thirty-five, which is way too old and experienced to have a hair trigger. It was all Jackson’s fault, of course, because he was talking about buying lingerie and—“Oh! The panties. You got the frilly panties? Are you wearing a pair now?”

“Why don’t you come over here and find out?” Jackson takes off his lab coat, his scrub top pulling taut against his biceps. Stiles stares a moment too long because he sees Jackson’s lips curving into a smug smirk. “You’re drooling.”

“Am not.” He knows it’s a weak comeback, but he’s been on shift for more hours than he cares to think about, and his brain is always a bit slow whenever Jackson goes into ‘pure sex on legs’ mode, which is totally what he’s in right now. “You’re wearing too many clothes, though. Remind me to send a letter to the CEO demanding that all ED docs should just wear speedos to help prevent infection risk.”

“If you want to help prevent infection risk, we’d need to wear PPE and masks.” Jackson rolls his eyes when Stiles maturely sticks his tongue out in response. “Besides, no one has done anything horrible enough in their lives to be punished with the sight of Dr. Moore in a speedo.”

And, just like that, Stiles is gaping and not at all aroused anymore. “Oh gross. Way to ruin a mood, asshole.” He walks over and shoves Jackson’s shoulder. “Now I’m going to have to bleach my brain or something. You’re evil.”

“Yes, and you love me for it. I’m sure I can get the mood back and make you forget all about Moore in a tiny speedo with his hairy back—“ Jackson’s words are caught by Stiles’ hand, his blue eyes fucking _twinkling_ with glee like the evil bastard he is, and he licks Stiles palm when he’s distracted by those pretty—no, not pretty, evil like the rest of him—eyes. Stiles doesn’t pull his hand back because they’re not really twelve, even if they sometimes bicker like it, and he’s had way more gross stuff on his hands than Jackson’s spit.

“Should I be jealous?” he asks, adding a hint of hurt and suspicion to his voice. “You seem to know an awful lot about Moore’s personal hygiene. Do I need to grow a beard?”

At that, Jackson shoves him back and grimaces. “Talk about needing brain bleach. And no beard. You know you can’t handle it, so quit threatening to grow one. The last thing I want is any of my residents thinking I’m married to some sleaze who sells drugs to high school kids.”

“I so could rock a beard,” he mutters, rubbing his chin and considering not shaving for a few weeks just to prove a point.

“If you want to get all up on this,” Jackson waves a hand at himself, “you’ll stop planning to throw away your razor because I refuse to deal with your splotchy facial hair after that last time.”

“Oh please. As if you’re desire to get all up on _this_ ,” Stiles repeats Jackson’s stupid hand wave at his own body, “wouldn’t outweigh any dislike of my fabulous facial hair.”

Jackson tilts his head slightly and makes a thoughtful humming noise. “I’m pretty sure I could resist,” he deadpans, an indulgent little smile on his lips that makes Stiles’ heart race in all the best ways.

“You can never resist me, babe.” He reaches out to trace his thumb over Jackson’s lips, giving his best bedroom eyes as he moves closer. “Now, you were telling me something about a package, weren’t you?”

“I hope you realize thatyou just made that sound skeevy instead of sexy.” Jackson nips at Stiles’ thumb, sensual and sweet all at the same time. “Talk about ruining the mood.”

“Pshaw. Whatever,” he says, shrugging a shoulder as he moves his other hand to Jackson’s waist. “You love me and my skeevy comments.”

“Which is further proof that proximity must breed insanity.” Jackson leans in and kisses Stiles lightly, just enough to tease. “There can be no other explanation.”

“Totally wrong. It’s familiarity that breeds contempt.” He can’t help smiling when Jackson growls lowly at being corrected before there’s another kiss, not quite so teasing this time. He returns the kiss, moving his hand from Jackson’s hips down, tugging on the scrub pants to get them out of the way. His fingers just touch bare skin, not the silky lace that he’s sort of expecting, which makes him pull back and look down, blinking as he sees that Jackson’s not wearing any underwear—panties or otherwise.

“Guess that answers your question, dumbass,” he says, snorting when Stiles tugs the pants down further purely for investigative purposes. “I just got home like five minutes before you did. There wasn’t time to put on panties or even take off my coat. Some cop you are.”

“Oh, real funny. I’m the best damn cop in Beacon Hills.” He covers Jackson’s mouth when he opens it, wagging his other finger at his obnoxious husband. “In the whole damn state, since I know you’re about to point out that Beacon Hills only has a dozen deputies. Now, what are you planning to do to make it up to me that you got me thinking hottie in panties but all I get is commando doc? Also, dude, why the fuck aren’t you wearing underwear? You’ve been at work, Jackson! So help me, if I find out you’re sneaking around with Moore behind my back—“

Jackson actually bites at his palm, laughing when Stiles pulls his hand back and shakes it slightly because ouch. Well, not really, as it was a nip more than a bite, but he’d been expecting a tongue not teeth. “I took a shower after my shift ended and didn’t figure there was much reason to put on dirty underwear when I was coming right home. The fact that you seem jealous at the idea of me sneaking around with a sixty-eight year old orthopedic surgeon is pretty adorable, you know?”

“Jealousy isn’t adorable, dickhead. It’s actually pretty gross and creepy,” Stiles points out. “Anyway, I trust you too much to be jealous over anyone, especially Alfred Moore.”

“No, it’s not, but _you_ are adorable.” Jackson kisses his nose. “No arguments.”

“But I like arguing with you.” Stiles gives him an exaggerated pout before wiggling his eyebrows. “So, are you gonna give me a private fashion show since I got home before you could change into sexy panties to seduce me?”

Before Jackson can respond, the sound of Stiles’ stomach growling fills the silence. Stiles groans as Jackson lets out a loud bark of laughter. “Sounds like any fashion show needs to happen after we eat, babe.”

“Damn stupid stomach. Getting in the way of sexy times,” Stiles grumbles, poking at his stomach. “But I probably need food before I spend the night wearing you out.”

“You can try, but I can’t remember being that worn out since we were in our early twenties.” Jackson tugs his scrub pants back up, kissing Stiles firmly before he can protest that false claim. When they pull apart, he smirks. “But you’re welcome to prove me wrong after dinner. The Thai should be here soon.”

“You bet your ass I’ll prove you wrong,” Stiles promises, leaning in for another kiss before dragging Jackson over to the sofa. “And you said an hour for delivery, which gives us plenty of time to make out before we eat.”


End file.
